“What are you doing here?” I asked when it was over.
“Opening my eyes. Seeing the bigger world around me.” He started picking up the scraps of rawhide that littered the floor, scraps that I saved for smaller projects like key chains and coin purses.
“I’ll give you a ride home,” he said, when I had bundled up all the material.
“I can manage.” I juggled four bulky bags, two on each hip, as we stepped outside.
He didn’t push it when I joined the line at the bus station. It often took two or three buses before I caught one that wasn’t brimming with passengers, leaning dangerously off the sides.
“Sierra stopped by after school today.” He stood next to me, on the side closest to the road, shielding me from the dust that stirred up as cars went by.
“Good.” I didn’t want any misgivings between Damian and me to affect her. “How was she?”
“Cocky. She said she was glad she kicked me in the balls the first time she saw me. I deserved it because her mama only has nine nails to paint instead of ten.”
“She kicked you in the balls?” My lips twitched at the thought.
“Damn near took out my junk. Today, she threatened me some more. Said she’d make it hurt worse if I did anything to hurt you again.”
“Typical father-daughter conversation, then?”
“She talked. I listened. Then I made her something to eat and dropped her home.”
I thought about the last time Damian had cooked for me. Plantains on hot stones, under an inky sky. When we’d been the only two people in the world.
“My bus is here.”
He took one look at it and grimaced. I knew he wanted to haul me over his shoulder and throw me in his car. He gave me a curt nod instead and watched me board. Then he followed the bus all the way to my stop before driving on to Casa Paloma.
Damian came to Valdemoros again the next day. He didn’t talk or hang around the booth where I worked, but he showed up when I was ready to leave and joined the line at the bus stop with me.
“What are you doing?” I didn’t know what he was playing at, but it made me uncomfortable.
“Catching a ride.”
Ugh. He was impossible.
“I got Sierra started on her homework,” he said. “She has a math test tomorrow.”
I felt a pang of jealousy. The two of them bonding. Every day after school. I had to work around the prison schedule, which meant I got home late. When Sierra first started school, I had a babysitter pick her up and cover the gap. It didn’t last long. Sierra was her own person—stubborn and fiercely independent. Just like her father. I could relate to MaMaLu’s exasperation now.
Estebandido! she used to shout.
When our bus arrived, Damian glowered at a young man, until he got up and offered me his seat. I settled the bags on my lap as I squeezed in between a mother doing her toddler’s hair, and a man holding a glossy red rooster. We’d made six totes in stylish dark-red leather with camel-colored straps that I still had to stamp with my standard logo: WAM!, in memory of Warren, Adriana and MaMaLu. The lady beside me left the comb sticking out of her daughter’s hair to run her hands appreciatively over the hand crafted bags. Damian swayed over me, holding on to the overhead bars through the bumpy ride to Paza del Mar. Most of the passengers got off at the main square. As we left the storefronts and cafes and art vendors behind, Damian took the seat across from me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Just sitting here thinking how far you’ve come, and I’m overwhelmed with how much I love you.”
He stared out the window and my entire world flipped over as the bus rattled on. I looked down at myself and saw a dull, plain version of the person I’d been. I hadn’t had a pedicure in years. My toes were sticking out of a pair of low-heeled sandals that hadn’t made the cut when I’d first designed them. The straps were too bulky, but the soles were soft and durable, so I’d decided to keep them. My thick, waist-long hair was tied back in a careless braid, and I wore a breezy tiered skirt with a crop top. I was a far cry from the fashionista he’d abducted. I wished I could see myself through his eyes. Then again, Damian never looked at me with his eyes. He looked at me with his soul.
I didn’t say anything when he got off the bus with me. He took the bags from my hands and carried them up the stairs to my condo.
“You want to . . . come in?” I asked when he turned to leave. I didn’t want him to go even though a part of me was chanting: don’t let him in, don’t let him in, don’t let him in.
“When you mean it, güerita.” He was gone before I could say anything.
“Was that Bandido?” asked Sierra when I opened the door.
“Yes. And you need to stop calling him that.”
“Bandido,” she repeated.
“Ban-Dad-o.” She mulled over the word as she bent over her books.
“Dad.” She stopped what she was doing and stared off into the distance. Then she picked up her pen and nodded.
“Dad,” she said softly, tasting the word in her mouth again.